


A T Shirt and Sweatpants

by orphan_account



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:04:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had never seen him like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A T Shirt and Sweatpants

**Author's Note:**

> just a random plot bunny inspired by Aidan Turner's hair in [this gifset](http://daishannigans.tumblr.com/post/67240542293)

He had never seen him like this. Mitchell continued making his coffee, oblivious to Anders’s staring as he walked around his apartment in a baggy shirt and sweatpants. His curls weren’t slicked back like they usually were, and some had gotten loose from behind his ear while one strand hung over his forehead. When he noticed Anders leaning against the wall, he shot him a sweet smile before sitting on the couch.

Mitchell turned to look at him again when he realized Anders hadn’t moved, and his brow furrowed at the curious look Anders figured was on his face. He didn’t like it.

Without thinking about it, he had walked to lean over the back of the couch and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, Mitchell’s hand curling into his shirt and pulling him down for a proper one. The angle was awkward, but the kiss was still slow, lazy, Mitchell’s lips chilly against his. When he pulled back, Mitchell was relaxed again, a small smile on his lips and Anders absently ran his hands through his unruly curls. The vampire leaned back into the touch, and Anders tried to figure out why this affected him so much. It was just clothes. He snapped out of his train of thought when Mitchell’s arm snaked under his and rested on the back of the couch, his fingers running feather light along Ander’s arm.

The realization hit him like the lightning at his 21st and he stiffened.

Mitchell was unguarded.

He wasn’t in his armor of jeans and shirts and slicked back hair, or his disguise of scrubs and an id with a century old picture on it. He was in completely comfortable, casual clothes and he was melting into Anders and the couch, relaxed and happy. Well, he was. He looked up at Anders in concern when he stopped moving, his full lips forming a small frown.

His first instinct was to make a sex joke, but when Mitchell asked, “Are you okay?” voice low and rough, almost hesitant, Anders could only nod. Mitchell still looked troubled, and he brought his hand down from Anders’s arm to run along the rim of his coffee cup. “Can you,” he started and cleared his throat before turning his big eyes on Anders. “Sit with me?” he asked quietly, a nervous smile on his lips, as if he wasn’t sure if he should ask, as if he wasn’t sure it was something he could have. He didn’t understand why; they sat together all the time. Anders realized the reason when, after he sat down, Mitchell leaned towards him only to move back a few times before he finally settled his head in his lap and determinately fixed his eyes ahead.

He had no idea how to handle this because he knew immediately he was no longer dealing with Mitchell the vampire, or even Mitchell the soldier. This was Mitchell when he was still unsure of himself. This was Mitchell in between the one that had been made fun of by bullies and the soldier being surrounded by the violence of a World War, the one he had heard oblique references to the few times Mitchell talked about anything before Bristol. Mitchell was curling in on himself, moving to sit back up and Anders knew that if he let him he would never get this opportunity again, and Anders was alarmed by how fervently he did not want that to happen. He put a hand on Mitchell’s shoulder to keep him where he was, and Mitchell peeked at him from behind that wild hair, more cautious than Anders had ever seen him. Slowly, softly, he rubbed his thumb in circles on Mitchell’s shoulder, only just enough pressure so he could feel it through the shirt.

If he could feel Anders’s heart nearly pounding through his rib cage, he didn’t say anything. Instead he closed his eyes, stupidly long lashes brushing against his cheeks as he exhaled over Anders’s denim covered thigh.

Anders exhaled heavily as one thought stood out in his mind: he was completely and utterly fucked.


End file.
